


My Righteous Guardian

by NoranNovelist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassins, Battle, F/F, Fantasy, Fiction, LGBTQ, Lesbian, Magic, NSFW, Romance, Royalty, Slow Burn, Themes of war, Times of War, Tragic Romance, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Lesbian, Transgender, Victorian era, War, Women Being Awesome, Women in the Military, eventual NSFW, guard - Freeform, sex with plot, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoranNovelist/pseuds/NoranNovelist
Summary: After the tragic assassination of her mother, and many attempts being taken on her life,  a young princess is assigned a royal guard to her own disliking.Though as the two spend time with one another they both find they grow to fulfill the roles they've been missing in their lives.





	1. Introduction

In a world of mystical and man, it’s not uncommon for one evil to be replaced by another; for out of all evils that can come from the simple magic spells and all the misdeeds they may do, humanity’s chaotic scurrying up the rampant food chain in order to be deemed its ruler has proven itself the most potent.

Its potency peaks during times like these, times of war. The Europlamla Kingdom and the Bagdishe Empire. Both had their own nation breaking flaws. 

The Bagdishe were filled with nationalist ideals, set on imperialism and believed it to be their birthright to rule everything within their expanding sight. They followed their false beliefs of gods who were nothing more than merciless warlord characters of fiction; believing their actions were just because they pleased these narratives.

The Europlamla Kingdom were a democracy set in royalty. Although generations ago the royalty were greedy and threw their own nation into chaos, plunging deep wounds into their own kingdom; it was the result of the people who kept those wounds bleeding. If things kept on the way they did, eventually, the Kingdom would bleed out. 

The wild crowds would protest against those who were only trying their best to right the wrongs of their ancestors long ago, and that resulted in a body count… a royal body count.


	2. The Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was to be a peaceful spring night for the Princess is interrupted with some tragic news.

It was late on a Spring night. The rampant clatter of heels and the solid outsoles of rubber hitting the hard cased cold tiles echoed throughout the large empty halls of the palace, interrupting what could of been a peaceful night. 

A small group of royal guards decorated in olive tunics with many variants of golden shoulder boards, coupled with the royal nurses in their dresses, aprons, yet no caps as they had been in such a rush.

Rushing through the dark halls, passing open wine curtains still as stone; entering and exiting the shapes cast on the floor in the pure white of the moon shining like a spotlight, all the shapes becoming a blur.

By the end of the hall, having passed all the far less important rooms, lied the grand wooden barrier which called itself a door. A giant slab of oak formed hundreds of years ago only to have its destiny be rewritten in its design. There wasn’t a single splinter, having been sanded to its smoothest with grains of sand so small they were beyond human vision, and waxed to perfection.

Adorned upon its magnificent heights was the carvings of lush and soft flowers ironically fixed into the hard structure of the rings of oak. Aligned high in the centre was a halo of mixed flowers such as the thornless roses, lilies, daisies and dandelions, finished with four wooden tulips evenly spaced on the outer ring. 

In the centre of the halo, forged specially by the most grand of smiths was a black iron door knocker. 

The mixed nurses and advisors alike wasted no time, having reached the door and without hesitation an adviser grasped the iron handle of the door knocker and slammed it hard against the uncaring oak. The nurses and remaining advisors resorted to their hands, crashing their bony fingers down upon the door until they bruised. 

The panicked hammering of their bones against unmoving lifeless fibres which withstood two hundred years of fury from the elements. Why would these lowly beings think they could topple something which outlived the fathers of their fathers? 

Eventually the cramped crowd stuck in the lonely deadened hallway gave in and stopped knocking; letting their new bruises fade. All placed their ear against the door and listened to what limitless events could transpire from a world they could not see on the other side. 

It was hopeless, the door much too large and too broad that not even the faintest wisp of a sound came through its fortitude. Until… ‘clunk!’ Came the sound of a giant barrel bolt lock, the weight of the metal rod alone could be heard with a slight squeak of lightly rusted metal. This lock was built to last, and built with not only privacy, but security in mind. 

What kind of beast would lock themselves behind such a heavy and foreboding door? What kind of creature rests behind the safety of a lock that heavy? Was it for their own safety? For the safety of everyone else? Was there an endless treasure trove of gold they were hordeing like a dragon?

The door crept open, the steel hinges of the door vocally struggled with a loud rusty creak as they held on desperately beneath the weight of two hundred years. Something seemed to be peaking through the small sliver that widened as two separate realities bled into one another. Finally the door opened. 

To think that the thing behind such a heavy door, the thing locked at the end of the hallway, the thing now revealing itself to the world… was the Princess. Standing in the frame, was the small figured silhouette of a vulnerable young woman. 

She wore her night apparel, a soft white silken nightdress. Gentle lances rested over her shoulders, keeping her loose dress on her body. Lying upon her collar, just below her neck was a clear, transparent fabric acting like shallow water in the cleanest of ponds; little flowers expertly threaded dotted this small pond like stars in the night sky. The shoulder garments were pillowy little balls with a texture of polar fleece that then extended as sleeves down to her wrists. 

The fabric went further, ending as a triangular shaped fold over her hands, dotted with multiple small diamond shaped holes. The rest of her dress was a mixture of fabrics, all soft and smooth. Exceedingly decorated, she was royalty after all. 

All of this could only be seen through the slight outline given from the gentle blue streak of moonlight. The rest of her was shrouded in darkness, except for her eyes. The moon managed to shine from an angle that fell comfortably over her face, but any and all expression was cut off, her expression was cloaked in darkness by her large set of hair. It was difficult to see what seemed to be a certain shade of brown. 

It had immense volume, which proved to be the small Princess’ enemy; her hair was a mess as she had been so rudely interrupted from her solemn sleep. Her fringe was the culprit of her concealed expression, a mess of shrubbery thicker than a lush and lively rainforest. But somehow the moon still blessed her eyes, allowing them to shine and sparkle a bright variety of green. The refraction of light from the green rings like crystals resting in a clear lake beneath a full moon. 

They were curious eyes, how could they not be; they were so suddenly woken and now they were searching for the conclusion as to why. 

“What is it?” The Princess asked. Her voice was a gentle whisper, but was accompanied with a disrupt undertone. She didn’t enjoy being snatched from her warm realm of escapism. Her tired legs struggling to keep up with the duties her body was performing failed to keep her standing in the doorway. She moved her weight to her side and placed herself against the large door frame. 

Her gaze able to thread itself through the forms of her advisors despite her fragility made it harder for the group gathered by her door to speak. Their stomachs a sore pit, their throats aching as they struggled to swallow the intensity. 

“Y-y…” A posh advisor in their carefully fitted suit and scrappy hair quivered. He lifted a piece of thin stained paper, the swaying and rustling quite apparent and heard in the quiet halls. “Y-your highness…” The poor advisor began to choke on his words as the pain in his throat reached new heights. He started tearing up and found himself unable to speak. 

It took one of the nurses to calm him down. Gently pressing a hand on his back and taking the note, she would bear the burden of telling the Princess the news. She took a long drawn out breath to compose herself, before pursuing the difficult task of looking the Princess in the eye. “M-my Princess… earlier today… the queen has been assassinated…” 

A stress was finally relieved from the messengers as the hardest part was swept aside. But now came the next hard chapter of this unfortunate tale; the Princess’s reaction. 

It was unnerving because… there was no reaction. What came next instead of a scream of tears, was simply the dreading feeling of emptiness in all the halls. It was as if everyone was a voiceless ghost in an empty palace. 

The Princess hadn’t the slightest reaction, just an empty stare as she looked into nothing. Her eyes weren’t of use right now, instead, she was trying to paint a picture in her mind. But the bristles of muscle in her head were being plucked and thrashed about as her thoughts gave in to emotional chaos. 

She was only trying to accept the reality that a woman close to her who just today was lively and healthy, was now gone, and she would never see her again. But it proved to be the biggest roadblock in her carriage ride through life, and she found it impossibly difficult to accept that fact. 

Finally however, it came. She understood. 

“Get out.” The Princess muttered with an authoritative tone, her eyes were still fixated on nothing as her mental paintbrush began lathering colours of a wild canvas again. 

“Wh-What? My Princess?” The nurse asked, failing to hear the Princess’s words through. The group all looked towards the Princess, analysing her empty expression in disbelief. 

The Princess spoke again… “Get… OUT!” She screamed in the many faces trying to support her despite their inability to support themselves. For a young woman with her small frame and fragile restless limbs; she managed to slam the large wall of oak with fierce efficiency. 

Now out of sight, and thanks to the fortress-grade door, out of sounds length; the Princess finally allowed herself to completely lose all form of self control. The tears rained down her cheeks; and where it rains, it pours. Solid rivers of pain ran across soft banks of skin. The Princess turned her back to the door and fell against it. She dragged her back down the smooth wax of the patterned wood. 

She brought her knees up to her chest and dropped her arms to her stomach. Her arms tightening as she tensed up and pain erupted through every matter of her being. All the Princess could do was cry into the night air. Claustrophobia settled in, she felt so little now. 

The Princess yearned only for someone to hold her. But… who was going to hold her? The only one who could hold her in a moment like this… was gone.


	3. A New Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after the tragedy, the Princess is forced to choose who will safeguard her, lest she suffer the same fate as her mother. 
> 
> In a final attempt to safeguard her free and poorly structured life, she ends up with a guardian she never could have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeepers! I never expected this chapter to be as large as it is! 
> 
> Day and night I’ve spent hammering away at the keyboard only to find myself miles from the end goal. Yet here it is! 
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy it like some of my peers did!

It had been a week since the sudden tragedy inflicted on the royal family. The citizens of Europlamla were in discourse. News and lies spread faster than fire spreading through gasoline, and the uproar caused more disarray than a hurricane. The King was in a horrid state, working day and night away from the palace of home; his new home would be within the parliament building of the capital. 

Comfort would be a treasure for the poor old greying man; crowds gathered outside throwing all sorts of outdated produce towards the parliament building, coating it in every colour that could define the word ‘rot’. 

In the middle of all this unrest, the King only cared for a single thing. The safety of his daughter. 

——————  
The Princess hadn’t eaten so much as a seedling without being begged to do so by the nurses. Her pale skin only seemed to grow more thin and frail. Had it continued any longer her skin would soon have no colour at all. 

Her weight had dropped exponentially to dangerous depths. Many times she would feel faint as a result of the simple task of standing up. Dark bags had formed beneath her eyes, heavy from carrying an endless amount of sorrows. 

Most of her time was spent dormant staring into nothing to recollect on the memories of someone who she could now no longer form new memories alongside. A large part of her mind tried to ease the pain by lying to itself, telling itself this was all just a joke and her mother would appear from behind a curtain to say “Got you!” 

But such thoughts weren’t to be. 

For every hour spent feeling empty outside her room, another two were spent squeezing every salty tear from her ducts while in her room. Be it against her door or muffled by the cushioning of her bed. 

She hadn’t had the strength to wipe her tears from her cheeks, instead allowing them to slowly make their way down till they dripped off her now bone ridden jawline. The slower tears were always the most annoying. They would stop halfway and make her face itch, and she wouldn’t care to scratch it. When her crying was done she would still feel the dried up trail where they had once roamed, sticking to her pale face like glue. 

The only other occupation the Princess had was sleep, and plenty of it. Every waking hour her body was in overdrive and her weak system was lagging behind trying desperately to leap over the many hurdles in its path. The heavy amount of emotional exhaustion she experienced easily put her to sleep, and the Princess loved her sleep. It was her only sense of escapism. Away from the cold unforgiving world of reality and in her own creative dreamscape where everything was soft and no one could be hurt.

In the long and slow week that seemed to span on forever, the Princess developed quite an attitude; or at least more-so of the pre-existing attitude she already possessed. She had been acting quite entitled, and rightfully so. She had just lost the most important thing to her, and now like an addict suffering from withdrawal, she would take whatever she could to feel anything resembling the hallucination of a life before this mess.

As for the present, she was found once again looking at nothing. Her neck failed to fulfill its job in holding up the weight of her mind; so she settled with holding it up by the slim white columns of her brittle arms. Intertwining her fingers and holding them together, she placed them under her chin to hold her head until the columns would crack.

Reality called for her once again however, and reality was a persistent caller who wouldn’t be left unanswered. Out of her storm of thought and in the clear she took notice to her surroundings. 

She was sitting in the royal family dining room of the palace staring down at a large silver tray of many assortments of foods. The food was dull in colour; lifeless even. It had fallen from a prestigious warm meal into a cold and damp experience reminiscent of wearing a wet sock on a winter morning.

The grand table the plate of silver rested upon was a long and magnificent piece of craftsmanship and labour. This table was unlike any royal oak within the palace; it was much too large to be forged out a tree of that size. A table this size had to be made from redwood, from lands far from the valley of Europlamla. 

Once again the wood was sanded and waxed to perfection. A game similar to ice hockey could be played and sometimes was played by the younger relatives of the royal family when they would visit. Indeed, this table alone could fit the extended royal family with room for its servants. 

Along its edges was a decorative gold casing, the Princess wished it was simply coated, but it wouldn’t be too far fetched to say it was real gold. The table was old, and the generations of old were much greedier back then. 

She could sense the shape of someone watching her from her right. The stillness gave it away like small ripples on water complacent like ice. In this red decorated lake where not even she moved, she could sense the uncomfortable shifts and strains of her watcher. 

After an unmeasured amount of time, because she hadn’t cared to observe it go by, she mustered up enough reason to put herself into action once more. Letting her head carry itself instead of freeloading, she raised her chin from her hands and pointed it in the direction of the watching figure. 

It was the old royal nanny, a gentle little lady with frizzled grey hair coloured like a mountain with little snowy streams of white beginning to show. She wore an old and well-used wine colour dress. It was a simple and rather dull dress; the only decoration being straight lines threaded from top to bottom. Placed over the dress was a plane white apron, once again, extremely simple for the likes of a royal servant.

But the nanny was a simple and sweet lady. Her weathered cheeks were like plums, seeming all the more fruity as she wore a soft and considerate smile. Beneath her considerate eyes were bags that had been holding years and years of experience and labour. She was excessively small, and rather round and plump.

The nanny was silently watching with kind concern, hoping the Princess would eat at least one thing from her plate today. But she didn’t let it show, her posture remained respectful with her hands held together resting upon her apron, and she continued her watch in silent support. 

She meant well, but the Princess in her cold empty pit of misery was too clouded in thought to translate; and thus didn’t know what she meant. 

The Princess glared at the nanny with her cold eyes. Eyes crying to understand why something so cruel were happening to them, but who’s tears had frozen over into dangerously sharp icicles that cut deep into those who shared its gaze. 

This frozen glare appeared to be challenging the likes of the nanny’s kind monitoring; and the poor nanny just trying to help was clearly at odds. She was intimidated and felt vulnerable. It didn’t help that she was standing alone, out in the open. 

But she put her worries aside, still hoping the Princess would break eye contact and take at least a bite. She had been in royal service for three generations, and had watched the Princess grow up. She knew they were quite the fierce young lady, but they weren’t a simpleminded brute who would give her a pummeling. 

It was an uneasy and rather awkward confrontation between the two; gladly it was suddenly put to an end. Against the nanny’s wishes, the Princess didn’t eat a thing. She pushed her large over-decorated chair back and lifted herself from it; turning to her left she headed back to the main hall that had suffered the thrashing of rubber against its tiles a week prior. 

She didn’t bother to be courteous and move her seat back into place; who was going to stop her? A dad she’d barely seen her entire life? A mother who was now gone? A spineless advisor who wouldn’t dare to do so in a time like this? She was old enough to slap her own wrist now; and she would be as easy as she wanted to herself. 

The only hardships she faced came in the form of light nausea as she rose to her feet a little to suddenly, and a stomach that rumbled, bashed, and hammered against its master, begging for them to turn around and eat just one damn thing from the plate. Yet battle all it might, it’s gurgles and aches were left unanswered.

Two grand doors were opened as the Princess entered back into the hall. These doors weren’t nearly as large that of her own quarters. Thinner than leaves compared to her grand oak, but nonetheless decorated. 

The cold tiles of the hall suffered the clatters once more. This time, the strikes against the marble were sharp and focused, as they suffered the wrath of the Princess’s concealed heels. The sound of heals hitting varying kinds of stone is one that is universally understood. The pressure and energy isn’t so broadly dispersed, thus leading to the louder sound that echoed through the grand spacious palace.

To say her heels were blue would be an assumption, a good one considering it would match her dress, but an assumption all the same. They were completely cloaked by the Princess’s long blue dress which was much too fashionable for one person alone. The amount of layers of multitudes of fabrics sewn together was enough to make a blanket fit for royalty, or keep a fire going throughout an entire night in winter.

Like her nightdress the shoulder garments were pillowy and soft. From her neck down was little skin to be revealed to daylight and plenty of silks. So much so, it gave the impression that she hadn’t starved herself or lost weight. 

The soft flower design of her nightdress was swapped out for a more aquatic inspired design which was heavily complimented by the over-abundant layering of fabrics; giving it a wave-like look similar to the ocean she had never seen before. It was meant to be finished with a seahorse shaped tiara, but she had enough weight upon her head as it was.

Multiple patterns were woven into the dress, as well as many dotted fabrics threaded onto the skirt. From the hem up to the waist was a large, multilayered, volumetric gown. It had a trumpet shape once again like the waves of the ocean. 

Her chest piece had a black decorative net fabric from her waist to her high neckline, revealing the corset done up beneath, also an ocean blue. Though it might have been done up tight, her loss of weight meant it didn’t suffocate her, an unhealthy benefit which luckily went unnoticed. 

The fabric making up the dress had mostly been satin. Except for the polar fleece sleeves. The Princess seemed to be a fan of that choice of fabric. 

Her hair was done up into a thick braid. With hair like hers having so much volume, and in such sheer abundance, it was a network of many smaller braids becoming one. It was a little scrappy at the front, her fringe having many loose strands flowing down along her pale forehead. It was a sharp contrast between dark and light as the Princess’s hair had been dyed a dark and unnatural black. 

All of these thoughts about her looks had only passed a couple of seconds, leaving the Princess still journeying through the hall. 

Everything in these vast rooms were white stone or marble. The long straight path from the royal dining room to the Princess’s bedroom was on the second floor, with a grand set of stairs the Princess would soon pass by. Down those stairs was the palace entrance, where many members of the royal workforce were discussing the now rampant and uncontrollable issues that had arisen. 

Intending to avoid said issues, the Princess did her best to block out these conversations and hoped the members below wouldn’t hear the vocal battle between heel and tile; she went as far as to cross her fingers to truly seal the deal. 

But reality called once again to tell her she had jinxed herself. To her dismay the royal advisors did notice her and shifted their attention away from their duties and towards her. She had just passed the stairs before being halted by the voices below.

“Y-Your highness!” The old advisor Sir Rossmand, who had sworn his entire life to the king, hurriedly raised a hand and made a short stride to the foot of the stairs hoping to get her attention before she disappeared to her room. To his luck, he managed to slip his foot into the closing doorway of her extremely short attention span. 

She rolled her eyes and vented her otherwise vocal frustrations through a swift sigh. Swifter than her sigh was her angered turn towards the foot of the stairs. 

“What!” She exclaimed throwing her arms behind her and pushing her chest towards the advisor. She was more than glad to take advantage of her height at the top of the stairs, allowing her to tower over the many men below. 

It had only just occurred to her that there was a set of soldiers standing firmly at the ready shoulder to shoulder in a line; four to be exact. She was silenced by her own regret for projecting herself so rudely to these uninvited guests. 

She observed them with a new sense of wonder and a slight curiosity. Analysing them head-to-toe. They were, indeed, Europlamla soldiers. They had the same olive uniforms as the two guards by the palace doors, except the door guards weren’t nearly as tall and proud; they looked rather scrappy and out of place for royal guards. 

That only emphasised that these soldiers were men to be marveled at. They wore their uniforms well. Large black leather boots that rose to the height of their knees polished so much the shine could blind their attackers. Large decorated shoulder boards of both gold and silver shaped into both flowers and their stems. Every colour of the rainbow was placed on their left breasts as they had a wide variety of shapes and sizes of service medals. 

There was enough steel pinned to the soldiers tunics to be melted down and shaped into a greatsword. The many scars scattered across the men’s faces told tales of experiences the medals could not. These were professionals, the best of the military, and now the most competent and deadly men were lined up by the Princess’s door. 

She had always considered Sir Rossmand a slender and tall man, but he was easily bested by these guests. His intimidation had not come from the men however, it came from his fear of the angry little Princess and her untamed attitude.

His intimidation led to hesitation as to whether to speak and potentially fuel the fire or the Princess. “M-May I present you with your new guards.” He said with a courteous bow, letting one arm left to his right to gesture to all the auditioning guards. He raised his head up and his body followed suit; correcting himself back to is polite posture. “These are the best men in the kingdom… and you may assign one of them to be your personal guard.” 

A personal guard! The Princess thought to herself. I’ve had quite enough on my plate, and now I’ll have some dirty soldier following me everywhere? The Princess was not pleased in the slightest. Hadn’t she lost enough? Or did reality wish to take privacy away from her as well? 

“Wha-! Who ordained this?” The royal staff were all too familiar with hearing the Princess’s voice of disapproval. But they had maintained her attention, which was a large stride considering how seclusive she had become throughout the week; and indeed she was focused. She took two steps down the stairs without even realising so; it was an automated bodily response. 

She rested one hand on the railing of the staircase, a cold black coated metal forged into many vine-like shapes, the other hand grabbed onto the fabrics of her overdecorated gown. She still held height to her advantage, and continued to look down upon her subjects. She chose to do so coldly. The one thing she knew she was allowed to do was vocalise how much disdain she had for everything; and if she was free to do so she would do everything in her power to hold that freedom as closely and tightly as possible.

Sir Rossmand slowly tilted his head forward towards the Princess. He felt a pain in his throat that felt like its sour fruit was swelling. “The King, your highness…” Sir Rossmand felt the slightest bit of relief knowing these were orders from the King himself, and thus, the Princess had no say in the matter; however he still feared the reaction of a woman with so much bottled up fury on the verge of womanhood. 

It took only those two words to slip out of Sir Rossmand’s mouth for the Princess to be thrown into a mental corner she couldn’t get out of. No matter the angle, no matter how well an argument she presented, her father’s word was absolute; all she could do was scoff and carry on with it. 

Carry on she was about to… but in the end she knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere. The faintest murmurs from deep within her throat could be heard as she pushed a potential storm of curses back down into her empty stomach. “…Very well then.” She subjected herself to say. 

That gave Sir Rossmand the drive to push the pain in his throat down to his stomach where it would hopefully burn away and disappear for good. “Well… Firstly there is Lord Draxx, Overseeing Commander of-” 

Sir Rossmand’s words faded into white noise as the Princess’s attention trailed away down an unknown rock path in the thick tropics of her mind. The only thing the Princess has been thinking about was: Who names their kid ‘Draxx’? 

It didn’t take her long to see the coincidence in this Commanders name. Lord Draxx was a head height taller than Sir Rossmand, his old skin show signs of age despite the small amount of wrinkles; which were not apparent as his skin as thin as a paper sheet stretched tightly around his sharp bones. The Princess imagine if she squeezed his cheeks and pulled hard enough they would be torn off like a rubber band.

His thin skin showed off his skeletal features, most apparent in his bony cheeks and long twig-like fingers. His left hand rested upon the hilt of a golden laced cavalry sword. All of these features as well as his harrowing expression accumulated to one result. Dracula, he looks like Dracula. There isn’t the slightest chance in the world I’m letting Dracula follow me, and I’m DEFINITELY not letting him in my quarters. 

By the time the Princess had made her decision, Sir Rossmand had finished explaining the various titles Lord Draxx had made for himself. She simply kept her bothered and unimpressed expression to give off the impression she had been listening. 

With no response, Sir Rossmand decided to continue. Moving his gesturing hand from the pale and slim vampire to an absolutely astounding beast or the wild. “Herald Ghreyjorn, chief of… Blood-Hockey?” Sir Rossmand’s questioned expression was matched with the Princess’s confusion. Sir Rossmand himself turned his head slowly to the giant who managed to fit themselves through the doorway. 

Words seemed to resonate from the upside down pine tree which made up this chieftains beard. “Blood Lock Teeth.” Came the deep and patient words from the thickly accented tree-man. 

Those words at once confusing now seemed concerning. Absurd names like that as well as this man’s Russian-like accent meant he came from the snowy tundras up north. The King once described those lands to the Princess as lands of war tribes and savages living in the snowy wastes who wouldn’t be tamed no matter the power of any kingdoms that dared to enslave them. 

This man proved to be the pinnacle of that somewhat primitive design. Beard like a pine, height the size of a tree, hands that could wrap around tree trunks, and a voice so deep it rooted into the ground. 

Despite all of these tree-like features, the Princess would describe him more as a bear; and it wasn’t hard to understand why. Ghreyjorn was muscle and meat built on the foundation of even more muscle and meat. It was a miracle his uniform even existed, it would have taken the best outfitters in the Kingdom to make something of his size that was a comfy fit. 

The skin beneath his tunic must have felt like dragon-hide, if such a material ever existed outside the world of fantasy in the Princess’s books. The sheet of olive didn’t do well enough to hide this man’s toned body beneath that would make any common girl flutter and faint. He had pecks the size of large pillows a lover would give everything to rest their head upon. 

The bear-like features came from his grand beard which resembled a lions mane. Thicker than any brush, it could be made into a million braids. Much northerners beardly fashion came from how much weight it could lift in the form of thick rings of brass, copper, iron, and steel. So it was only fitting for a chieftain like Ghreyjorn to be able to hold his entire family tree on just his beard, and hold the rest of his tribe on the long mane flowing down his back like a violent waterfall. 

Herald Ghreyjorn used to be an over-the-border friend of the King, and visited the palace a few times. The Princess had always been afraid of ‘Bigfoot’ roaming the palace halls at night and pigging on the leftovers in the royal kitchen. So he was the only one out of these four that the Princess knew. 

Sir Rossmand winced once hearing the bear speak and the outlandish title it had given itself. “So uncivilised…” His wince continued to sour more than any lime or lemon left in the sun. 

“Your ‘civilisation’ has killed more than any war pact of the North could dream to.” The jab Ghreyjorn made was quick, blunt, even somewhat comical in his own eyes, but nevertheless political and as of currently… a bit of a heavy topic to be playing with so lightly. 

He still remained strong and polite in posture, and assured he was respectful in front of the Princess. 

Sir Rossmand was at the very least unnerved by Ghreyjorn’s remark. Still he continued on auditioning the guards to her majesty. But once more her mind was elsewhere; this time it was lagging behind. It was still focused on Ghreyjorn as she knew him so well. If there was a choice to be made out of any of these contestants, it would be him. 

But she didn’t want a guard on her tail every hour of the day, she wanted to be left alone. In further thought on how to get out of this her eyes trailed to the left. The next contestant would have been a particularly average man with a simple trimmed moustache. Too boring for her to analyse so her eyes ventured further until they reached the final man on the far left.

A scrappy man with sharp and messy hair that showed to be rather sharp and pointy. His uniform wasn’t worn with any proper care, instead filled with creases. Instead of an officer’s cap like the rest he wore a hat which gave him quite the character, symbolising himself as a cowboy… a messy, smelly cowboy. He further complimented himself with his attitude. 

He had a lot of ego to share around. His lower left lip always hung open as his teeth held a sharp toothpick that would shake ever so slightly; the Princess assumed withdrawal from smoking. But his teeth were a part of another puzzle, the other pieces being his top and bottom lips which curled into a sly smirk. 

In noticing he had the Princess’s attention, the smelly cowboy sent a wink her way, a wink she rejected with a scowl. It was clear this guard would only try to get beneath her dress. Ugh… ‘Men’. She thought to herself as she had to physically pry herself vision away from the filthy ranger. 

Did she really have to choose between an old vampire, a bear who could snap her like a twig, moustache, or a drunken old jockey? I don’t feel safe with any of these… ‘men’… Finally a scheme came into plan, a scheme which put a devilish smile on the Princess’s face. 

“None.” She finally intruded. The room was silenced both by the strength her royal voice had, and by the unorthodox and unreasonable answer. 

It stopped poor old Sir Rossmand, who was only trying to do his job, dead in his tracks. “Wh-What was that… your highness?” He rubbed his hands nervously, praying to all the Kings and Queens of the royal bloodline that this wouldn’t devolve into an argument. Sir Rossmand always did his best to appease the young Princess just to avoid issues like this. 

“I won’t accept any of these men. None of them are to my liking.” The bittersweetness of her words stung worse than alcohol on an open wound, her bluntness made it no more forgiving. She took it as a kind declining, but the men took it as a direct insult. 

“Y-Your highness these are the best men in all of the Valle-” Sir Rossmand let out a light chuckle, it was the only way to vent out the now rampant fear he was now feeling. The rubbing of the back of his hand grew faster to the point the friction heat could singe his hair off. He was now caught in the crossfire between men that could easily kill him, and a lady who could easily bark at him until his head fell off. 

“I don’t feel safe in their presence, if I don’t feel safe then I, myself, am not safe. If you wish for me to feel safe you shall get me a female guard instead. Surely my father can accept that provocation. If you don’t find me a female guard by end of the day I shall be deemed to do as I please. That is all Sir Rossmand.” 

The unforgiving nature of the Princess left Sir Rossmand in a wreck. He fumbled to say anything at all. But the only thing that came from his shaking lips was: “W-w… Y-y-y…” The Princess had won and she knew it, and at this point she deserved to win something given the many events over the week. With a newfound sense of devilish joy, she began making her way back up the stairs and to her room. 

She was stopped by a thick northern accent however. “It will be hard job.” The chieftain said. The Princess turned suddenly to listen, seeing no reason as to why he should have been speaking other than to complain. She saw the gentle giant patiently taking off his officer cap and holding it nobly against the centre of his chest. The bear had been looking at the floor, but he lifted his rather soft gaze to lock eyes with the young woman standing before him. “But for sake of highness’s safety, we will look.” With their shared gaze came shared smiles. “I know a place.” 

Ghreyjorn sent a wink the Princess’s way. This one she would accept with open arms, unlike the smelly cowboy’s poor attempt at getting a royal bedding. Good to see at least ONE of these men know how to treat a lady; even if it’s the barbaric warchief from the savage lands… 

Paper came from trees after all, and the Princess was reading this pine’s eyes like a book. They both shared that look of mischief. Both knew the scheme, that the Princess didn’t REALLY want a personal guard. The Princess had simply made a gamble she knew she could win. 

There aren’t any FEMALE guards in Europlamla. Women are too weak to work in the military. The Princess indulged herself with a slice of self-sexism pie. They won’t find anyone before sundown. She continued to devour that sweet, sweet pie, no matter how much it hurt her own perception of what she was capable of. She simply wanted to be left alone, she felt she could lose her finger to save her arm.

Finally the Princess began heading to her room once more. The second she turned away from the four men they all lost control. They began complaining to Sir Rossmand who quickly attempted to calm them down. The Dracula not wishing to have his time wasted again during wartime, the other two insulted for damage to their ego. 

Ghreyjorn was being helpful however, informing poor little Rossmand that he would begin his search with some aid from the royal workforce. He was overwhelmed and surrounded and on the verge of having a heart attack.

The evil Princess smiled at the perfect execution of her trickerous scheme whilst she continued the long war of heel against marble. But that smile strangely wasn’t to last…

She had that off feeling in her gut, a feeling that spoke to her, telling her to look back. She gave into her slim gut’s whispers and turned her head towards the palace entrance. Looking at all the men in green her gut forced her eyes to hone in on one in particular, the door guard to the right. 

Small for a guard, looking rather skinny and out of place. Much like her was bushy dark hair contrasting against pale white skin. They seemed troubled, with clear worry and panic showing in their wide eyes. Wide eyes the Princess could see clearly because they were looking right at her. A step had even been made in her direction.

It was unnerving, and made her slow a little in her loud strides. She wondered what was going on in that trouble young man’s mind. Did he urgently need to tell her something? Was something wrong that she needed to know? But before her mind could be forced over the edge into a pit of superstition their vision was cut off by the walls housing the rooms on the way to the grand oak. 

She was further unnerved when hearing Draxx’s voice echo behind her. “Where do you think you’re going? Door guards must stay by the door.” She could only assume he was referring to that troubled man.

The Princess was at least relieved she could finally get back to her room and rest. Sinking her fingers into its side and pulling with what little semblance of strength she had left. A long and loud creek echoed down the hall before the door was closed again. 

She fell back upon her bed with the back of her hand falling upon her forehead, she could tell whether her hand or her head was cold. In truth her entire body felt cold despite the many layers of fabric of her dress warmer than any blanket. She had no fat keep herself warm. 

But she didn’t care for her temperature like she didn’t care for her malnourishment. She was tired from all the crying, so no matter how long she would toss and turn, she would finally get some sleep. 

——————  
It had been five or so hours of nothing but staring at the roof and tossing and turning on her bed; and a mere thirty minutes of sleep for this still exceedingly hollow and tired Princess before reality once again stuck it’s foot in her door. 

The moment she had been allowed to rest her weightless dreamy world was snatched from her grasp. The sound of iron against oak entered and reverberated in her skull. Getting louder and louder with each rebound off the bone encasing her currently loosened mind. 

At first she tried to ignore the persistence of reality. She groaned and rolled to her side, sinking her cold fingers into the soft and warm fabrics of her thick blanket and bringing the layers to her ears to absorb the sound inside as well as block the sounds outside. 

In these hard times this blanket was her escape, an exact contradiction to the hardships she had already faced and those she would continue to face. It was soft and ever-changing as she pulled and play with its flowing silk. It was a shiny plum coloured material, decorated with thin threads of black silk making the shape of a large tree. 

The Princess found it somewhat ironic, seeking comfort in this blanket tree despite the fact that the tree of her family would never be the same. She contemplated whether or not to cut out the threads of one of the branches. These thoughts continued to distract her from the rampant bangs opposite her door.

It worked… until the next set of knocks. These ones were louder, piercing through the Princess’s fortress-grade door, and breaking through her skull to drive her mad. “Princeeeeeess~” came the kind voice of a lady from the other side of the oak. 

The Princess couldn’t resist against the relentless hammering against her last line of defence from society. She finally snapped and her little amount of patience gave in. Throwing the blanket down and aiming herself towards the door ready to hurl herself into these rude intruders like a razor sharp dart, she barked. “WHAT!” 

The knocking stopped granting the Princess an uneasy moment of silence. The still air was interrupted once again however as the lady spoke again. “Someone’s here to see you!” They seemed excited, which the Princess found odd. Who wanted to see me? Was it a family member? She began trying to connect non-existent dots in her head. 

Feeling nauseous having gotten up so hastily, she sat by the side of her bed facing her window. Still thinking although she knew realistically she wouldn’t be able to guess who it was. 

Large squares of light began to shine through her room’s window, symbolising the turn from morning to afternoon. The day was still bright and the sun wasn’t shining gold just yet. Still high in the sky proven by how slim the little squares of light were on the carpet. 

The day was still too young for the Princess’s liking, she wished sundown would come sooner to sign her contract of freedom with a glowing spray of golden ink. It was a slow approaching victory.

Still the Princess thought… Who could it be? But if she really wanted to come to a clear cut conclusion she would have to see for herself. Searching through the sludge of the sewer pipes she called her veins, she scavenged for any reserved energy to move to her legs. A slight shake as they lifted her frail body, but she was up! 

The first mystery was to find out the identity of the woman by the door, the visitors identity would come next. A sudden stumble slowed the meek Princess, all the energy was in her legs, none to help fight off the pain of her gurgling stomach or the nausea of her head. 

Reaching the door she transferred the weight of herself onto the oak, it was much more reliable than her by this point. Wrapping her hand around the heavy handle of the giant iron barrel bolt lock, she heaved to lift it and shove the bolt to the left. 

Further might and heaving were needed to push the door out of its frame allowing its steel hinges to cry as they shared the same struggle as the Princess in holding the weight of generations. 

The separate realms of the palace and the room bled into one another, and the first one to greet the Princess in her return to this realm of marble was… “Lady Rossmand! What are you doing here?” 

The Princess was met with a copy of herself. Lady Rossmand was just as pale, although that had been due to her victorian-esk powdered makeup. The Princess’s hair contrasted her pale skin, but for Mrs Rossmand is was her lips. A dark blue, darker than the depths of the ocean made the coating of lipstick lathered over soft lips. She wore a gown with a colour pallet just like the Princess, and it was all done up so well it could challenge royalty with its fashion. 

Lady Rossmand didn’t wish to merely mimic the Princess’s fashion, she used it as a way to connect with her. 

Before Lady Rossmand could answer Sir Rossmand appeared from behind her with a proud smile. “You said you felt unsafe in the company of men. So I… made some arrangements and you shall now be accompanied by the female staff from now on. Although I certainly do hope I don’t intimidate you your highness.”

He really did put his life into his work, the King often took his services for granted. The Princess had yet to show her appreciation, but she did appreciate him. 

Before she knew it, the Princess found her hand enveloped in the squishy and plump warmth of Lady Rossmand’s hand. “Come now your highness, we have so much to talk about!” She whispered with a sense of overflowing excitement. 

It was this excitement that easily loosened up the Princess like a gentle massage on her soul. She felt comfortable being pulled out from the safety of her room and held beside Lady Rossmand. Lady Rossmand slid her hand below the Princess’s closed fingers and pushed them open so the two could intertwined their fingers with one another. 

This once more buttered up the Princess into a state where her until now frozen heart seemed to warm and feel like a goopy cream mixed with heated caramel. Her white cheeks began to red and where once was a cold winter wasteland lacking of any life, poppies began to grow. She felt as if the skin of her cheeks would separate and delicate red petals would curl out from beneath. Perhaps spring had finally come for the Princess as well, just a week behind schedule.

This is… odd. The faint semblance of a nice feeling had become completely alien to the Princess. Her expression remained to be a superstitious resting face being as clueless as her own emotions. Her eyes unable to calibrate to the speed of her mind in its many questions being shot into empty space at light speed; so they settled to focus on the approaching corner with near microscopic precision. 

Finally the palace entrance came into view again. Large open and decorated windows showed the warm light outside contrasted by the blue reflection the marble floor seemed to project. Before her eyes adjusted to the outside world she could see the silhouettes of men in uniforms below.

She instantly identified the large towering shadow of Ghreyjorn standing by the door speaking with the royal members below him at the foot of the stairs. It seemed the nurses enjoyed his presence, worse yet he seemed to enjoy theirs. He was a fan of making sweet ladies hearts flutter in their chests. 

But beside him… was another… man? No… their figure seemed to varied to be a man. The Princess continued to hone in on this stranger to the best of her ability, but they were cut off from her vision by the nurses who seemed to skip in glee hearing the gravelly voice of the bear. 

Passing the railing and reaching the stairs, Sir and Lady Rossmand guided the Princess down the steps all the while she focused on this misfigured stranger. Halfway down the stairs was as close as the Princess and Lady Rossmand got; Sir Rossmand excitingly continued down the white stairs as cheerful as the nurses getting wooed. 

“Princess Noreina, may I present to you, Officer Camellia; your personal guard.” He gestured to the stranger still out of sight, but the nurses quickly dispersed and revealed… her…

A lady in the same military uniform as Ghreyjorn, it was greatly fitted to cozily wrap around her womanly figure. The uniform was textured, cleaned, and presented much better than any of the male soldiers before her. Princess Noreina’s eyes were strained in attempting to look for a crease. 

Instead of the olive pants she wore a tightly fitted, asymmetrical, plane military skirt that stopped just before her knees. Said skirt did little to hide the curve of strong hips and a waist that could break boulders. 

Replacing knee height boots was a set of olive high heels with heels so strong they could stomp on the earth and carve their way to hell. Linking the gap between hem and heel was a set of long legs as stable as a castle and as still as trees. They couldn’t be broken. Yet something so fierce looked to be smoother than the Princess’s wall of oak. 

Were they sanded with the skin of gods and waxed with the nectar of angels? One would have to survive a lifetime of tribulations through hell just to be graced with the pleasure of running their hand along it. 

By the woman’s centre was a shiny black belt the Princess could have sworn would restrict her breathing, but like everything else, it was perfectly fitted. Further up came the curve of her chest, a nice curve as some might say; a bust that made some of the maidens pout in jealousy. To describe them modestly, they were practical and didn’t get in the way of her duties as a fighter.

Her neck had a gentle sparkle of sweat due to the heat and the long travel undertaken to get from wherever they found her to the palace. Perhaps she pulled the horse carriage to the palace, her neck could definitely contest against a battalion of men. 

Dawned atop her head was the officer’s hat many had worn before her, none resting so comfortably upon a head like hers did. Large hats, with the forever present olive palette making up the fabric of the hat’s crown. A black visor topped with a black band made the other half of the officer’s hat. It the centre was a golden flower sigil; coincidentally being a camellia flower. 

This hats humble yet prestigious infrastructure rested upon the solid foundation of solid hair coated like shining obsidian which she must have had to shape with a comb made of diamonds into it’s neatly done up form. The back of her hair was rolled up into a French Twist, her fringe grouped into one large wavering strand moved to rest beside her right eye.

In the Noreina’s rapid search and almost instant search for any imperfections she almost skipped over the most important part. Officer Camellia’s beautiful face. She was a beyond healthy young woman. Unlike the frail Princess she had meat on her bones and her face was colourful; that didn’t help her express herself however. 

It must have come with the job, but it wasn’t much of a perk; Camellia was completely stoic and expressionless. Having twice the amount of meat beneath her smoothly textured skin, it was a complete mystery as to why she came off twice as cold compared to Noreina.

A set of lips that didn’t dare move from their resting position. Above, a pair of focused eyes whose lenses could deflect beams of the sun and whose precision could be focused down to the very cell’s in one’s body; such deadly weapons pointed straight towards the Princess. If the beams wouldn’t get her, Camellia’s slim gaze with razor sharp lashes black as the void would cut open and dissect Noreina’s soft hazy globes.

It was an uneasy standoff between the oblivious green of Noreina against the sharp, focused, persistent, and daringness of Camellia’s brown. All this time Officer Camellia hadn’t spoken a word, not to the nurses, and not to Ghreyjorn. All this time, she challenged the mightful gaze of the Princess the moment they lasted eyes on one another. 

To think… all of this focus on the most minute of details spanned mere seconds and would be swept off the shelves of thought, time, and memory. Princess Noreina pulled her unwelcoming curiosity back into her own head. She needed it now; for thought. 

Thoughts of worry, feeling the coldness of the corner walls she had been backed into much too often. No fingers to point, she had done this to herself, she had stepped into her own bear trap. She hated how unfair the fairness of world was. 

What was she supposed to do? Tell them she didn’t like women also? They would listen! They had played her game fair and square, and she lost the gamble she thought she could never lose. 

Still Noreina couldn’t bring herself to live with the consequences. A muffled groan resonated deep in Noreina’s throat, sourced from her deep pit of despair. Her lips began to jitter and tremble and her cheeks grew a little larger with her jaw pointing out. This was her best attempt at hiding a pout, and her ultimate struggle to not scream the palace down to rubble. Her hand was clenched so tightly it hoped to break itself.

Her eyes mimicked Camellia’s as they thinned in anger, attempting to bite back but in way over her head. This was the sorest her throat had been when swallowing her pride. 

Noreina had lost her way of living, her privacy, and now, the test of perseverance against her new guard. She surrendered from this stare down contest, breaking eye contact to look at the tree growing in the middle of the tile room… Ghreyjorn. She thought he was on her side but he was being serious. Big old bastard… why’d you have to go and do your job like a responsible adult?

To his side was the same scrappy door guard, now shivering in the presence of Ghreyjorn’s magnificent structure. Noreina winced, still having many questions for that man. But back to Ghreyjorn… I hate you… she thought to herself.

Finally a word had been spoken in what felt like forever, Sir Rossmand interluded with his usual barrage of praise. “Officer Camellia has fought in many campaigns high and low across the valley and over the borders. I recall in the Northern civil war she left quite a footprint.” 

She could have rolled her eyes at these remarks she cared so little about, but unlike this guest she had some semblance of respect for Sir Rossmand.

“Born in the region of…” Sir Rossmand always closed his eyes when expositioning, so it proved him all the more clueless when he opened them without an answer to leave his throat. He began snapping his fingers to help recall. “Of… of…”

“She come from over Eastern border; forest lands.” The iconically thick accent of Ghreyjorn helpfully intruded. 

“Ah, yes.” Sir Rossmand seemed to be back on his way. He took an excited breath in to continue his exposition before his eyes became suddenly wide again. “Wait… over the Eastearn border…” He carefully turned to face Officer Camellia with an unwelcoming and fearful look. “That means you’re… Bagdishe…” 

A discomforting presence filled the room like a thick cloud of smoke. 

“Should we really trust the Princess’s life in the hands of well… the enemy?” Sir Rossmand failed to consider how rude his proposition might have been, especially when vocalising it right in front of the subject of discussion’s face? 

Old oak Ghreyjorn found it quite funny in its own rude, twisted little way… “Woah, woah, woah.” He chuckled from the deep gravelly centre of his charcoal soul, holding a hand onto his expanding chest as he breathed quickly with each gentle laugh. His other hand was held towards Sir Rossmand, telling him to slow down, and tread carefully when around a killing machine like Camellia. “Home is where you make it comrade. Now, I have selected little Camel-flower here because she is best soldier I’ve ever had blessing to share battlefield with. She is reliable and gets job done better than any man. I trust her, with my life.”

He rested his large log sized palm on Camellia’s shoulder. It fell upon her shoulder with quite an impact, but she didn’t budge. Either she had two personalities which would take shifts or he saw something in her no one else did. “My Princess, you have my word that Camel-flower will keep you safe.” Beneath his leafy mess of a black shrub was the wide curve of a smile. His smile seemed to return the smiles of the royal staff also.

He patted down Camellia’s shoulder and gave her one last look before turning around heading out the palace doors. Officer Camellia still hadn’t broken her gaze, and didn’t plan to. Ghreyjorn’s job was to retrieve a female guard. He had. Northern folk tended not to like Europlamlan’s and their chatting, so he thought it best to head outside and wait for his carriage, however long that might be. 

He was a patient man, who would gladly count the grains of gravel on the road rather than listen to the endless exposition of Sir Rossmand. He still remained completely oblivious to how much of a betrayal he had dealt to the Princess and her free time. He was happy to have the fulfilment of a job well done.

The royal members watched him leave, the hearts of the nurses yearned for his return so they could marvel at him once more. All letting out sighs as their mushy arrow pierced hearts grew heavy. 

With the duties done, and the unfortunate news delivered, Noreina turned her back on all of the first floor. Heading back up the stairs, she hoped to avoid her new guard for as long as she could and have at least one last day without responsibility. 

Her heels and the marble stairs battled one another in loud obnoxious fury. Beyond her mere battle of stone sounded an entire war of rubber outsoles rampantly shattering tile, and the battle seemed to reach closer to home. 

“PRINCESS!” Came a panicked shriek from the nurse trio below. The cry was so loud and nerve-racking it made Noreina instinctively snap around in an instant. But… it was too late. 

Blood had already poured into her fabrics and splattered on her face in a spray of red freckles. Her breathing halted in permanence and her body was filled with the venom named shock that paralysed her. 

It was not her blood however… 

Standing before her was the scrappy door guard, his eyes were much more panicked than before due to his failed assassination attempt. Seeing his face sent a cold stream of liquid through the fluids of Noreina’s spine; he was no older than she was, maybe younger.

In his right arm extended fourth was a concealed silver blade, concealed in the hand of Officer Camellia. ‘Impaled’, impaled was a better word for it. The blade entered her left palm, and exited out the back of her hand. It had only gone a short way in, there was still a long silver bridge between the handle and Camellia’s hand. 

The assassin’s gaze had been on the Princess, but quickly changed to this new guard whom he heavily underestimated. He thought once Ghreyjorn was gone it would be simple, that no women guard could stop him no matter the experience or title. But looking over to Camellia he found himself at the mercy not of a woman, but of something much more terrifying.

Despite the wound Camellia remained vigilant and strong. Her focused expression hadn’t faded, instead it became much clearer. Her sharp brown eyes looked straight through the assassin and undid him from the inside. The muscles spasmed in her left hand and her fingers twitched freakishly. 

The loud sound of flowing liquid disturbed the muffle of the open room. With each twitch and spasm came the spurt and spray of red falling heavily against the tiles and splashing further up and down the staircase. This only interrupted that gentle consistent stream of juices which stained both hand and blade.

Up close, it was clear to Noreina that Camellia was a tall woman, towering over this small boy; making her actions all the more dreading for this small and shivering killer. 

He hoped that if he pressed the blade further through her hand she would submit to the nerve splitting pain igniting within her flesh. Had he been so lucky…

Camellia was determined to fulfill her duty. She stood firm as her arm shivered and the muscles in her hand spasmed. Her fingers looked like panicked spider legs twitching and scarring about. She pressed upon the silver tooth only to be educated about its flesh splitting ribs. Serrated.

Pressuring her hand forward she pressed harder until she reached her desired outcome. Only a focused grunt was to be heard from her as both contestants linked through a razor bridge felt the sawing of her tensed muscle fibres. What was hoped to be a smooth slide through became and strenuous task as the small hooks on both sides of the blade latched onto vein and fibre. 

Short bursts of momentum were expelled with each tendril split, the small and sudden accelerations made her parting muscle and splitting flesh sound like paper being ripped apart. 

Finally she reached her goal, not the dagger’s hilt, but the wielders hand. Her fingers reached firmly around his knuckles and began to squeeze with all the remaining might in her impaled near hollow hand; which was plentiful amounts. 

The disturbance quickly switched from Camellia and the voluntary disfigurement of her own hand, to the sorrowful murmurs coming deep from the bottom of the boy’s throat. 

He was the first in the room to get a feel of her… and she was built like an ox. The nurses felt like they were going to pass out once they heard the crisp sound of bones beginning to crackle and snap. 

The onlookers almost began feeling sorry for the boy who by now was missing his right hand. Reduced to dust and pulp, he was reduced to loud cries for mercy and enough tears to wash away the red that dotted the clean floor.

With her prey disarmed and vulnerable she enacted the final part of her plan. Bringing the right side of her body back, she proceeded to curve herself around, when her body stopped her hips kept turning. Lifting her left heel and curling her leg back it was clear she was rearing to strike like a snake preparing to attack. 

For the grand finale she pulled the man’s hand forward and his body came toppling with him. Now with the momentum heading straight for her, she launched her foot forward and rammed her heel into her prey’s forehead. 

The open and empty air now contained one unconscious body, of which gravity quickly confiscated. There was the audible impact of his body against smooth stone and a loud crack as another bone randomly selected found itself in the most unfortunate of lotteries. 

With all the commotion Ghreyjorn was bound to hear eventually, old fool could have done better to hear earlier though… He entered and immediately got to apprehending the now pile of bloodied bruising at the foot of the steps, he was helped by the soon to be fired second door guard; who managed to do an astounding amount of nothing during the entirety of this confrontation.

Well… maybe if he helped he’d keep his job… unlikely however.

The horrid reminder that their attention was best spent elsewhere came in the gut twisting form of loud droplets spilling onto the ground in large groupings. The royal members all looked upon the gruesome sight of Camellia removing the serrated blade from her hand. 

Once more they felt like passing out hearing her flesh tear like paper, but it had been painfully removed, a win in Camellia’s books. The members felt the same fear the boy being dragged away did after realising Camellia’s expression still hadn’t shifted despite all the irreversible damage not even the best surgeons in the valley could fix. 

She carelessly dropped the blade on the floor, making a metallic ring. Her focus was still upon her duties, and it was her duties she turned to. Facing towards the Princess, she looked down upon the poor girl whose heart was about to pop. Noreina was paralysed, the only signs of her breaking free from this fearful cage were the shivers running up and down her body.

Camellia brought her right arm forth. Her right hand, the ‘clean’ hand, gently brushed itself from the tips of Noreina’s fingers up to her soft palm, wrapping her thumb around, Camellia took the Princess’s hand and brought it forth. Courteously, Officer Camellia lowered herself to one knee, dipping her head forward to look blankly at the floor. 

“Apologies, your highness.” Were the simple words she spoke, so casually without a lick of panicked stuttering or needing to catch her breath. 

Noreina was in no state to protest or do well… ANYTHING! All she could do was let this happen in her frozen state. She looked down upon the back of Camellia’s neck, dry as a desert, not a slight hint of any sweat from stress. 

Her brief analysis of a strong neck came to an end as Camellia returned the hand she had politely borrowed. Standing back up to remind the Princess of her intimidating height, she placed herself by Noreina’s right side. Noreina wanted to ball her eyes out still hearing the red fluids dripping onto the floor. 

She was given an alternative solution as the nurses all rushed up the stairs and gathered around Camellia. “Oh my god are you okay?” Came the somewhat uneducated question, the answers for all the questions on this test could be found scattered across the floor and leading up to the mangled hand of Camellia. 

Still the polite Officer Camellia felt inclined to raise her emptied out hand and answer. “No I feel quite faint.” She said so nonchalantly looking upon her hand then to the trio. 

“Come with me, we need to treat this.” The nurse informed, taking Camellia’s injured hand; rushing her down the stairs and turning right towards the many rooms of mystery including the nurses medical cabinet. 

Princess Noreina eyed her through the entirety of her exit. Once gone she focused on the pine of Ghreyjorn still dealing with the unfortunate victim of a beast’s mauling. He had a look that showed his struggled in trying to keep up with the many actions that had transpired. 

His eyes met the Princess’s. “It would be best for you to leave, dear.” He warned. 

“Uh… yes… yes it would…” Sir Rossmand included. It didn’t take long for Mr and Mrs Rossmand to run Noreina down the hall to her room. She looked out to her left outside to windows to be met with a warmth she failed to feel from the setting sun. When had it become sundown? She asked herself; reality gave no answers.

Once in the door was slammed shut for her sake… but she couldn’t help but feel like she was being swept aside so everyone could focus upon themselves. Outside she heard the Rossmand couple vocalise their many worries for each other’s well-being as they turned the other way. Why was no one asking her the same questions? 

She had just suffered a close attempt on her life and the first thing everyone did was place her in her isolating corner and left her to her own devices. What fool would leave an already emotionally unstable girl to dwell on her thoughts when her mental state was beyond gone?

For the longest time as day fell away and night took its place, Noreina just cried. She brought her knees to her chest and bundled herself into a tiny ball best resembling how she felt to the world and just let it out. Everything she had was just squeezed out like a salty sponge as she just shook in her bed despite all the blankets in the world. 

She kept shaking until finally… she passed out. 

——————  
When she woke she was greeted to the pain of a stomach that had found its voice, and its voice called to be relieved of its pain. 

It had taken only seconds for Noreina to forget the liberation of her dreams. Now reality would play with her instead. What pain do I have in store today? Aside from an inverted stomach. She found herself thinking as she lifted herself to a sitting posture with closed eyes.

Before her eyes could even focus three loud bangs came upon her door. Cold liquid flowed through her spine again, that thrilling jolt of anxiety for the unknown. What beast from that realm beyond her own wished to turn the sanctuary of her room into a red paint studio? She could imagine her lifeless body and hazy blank eyes lying in a stain bed…

Three more knocks. The Princess’s breaths became short and rapid, she was almost sure she would pass out again. That brought her mild disturbed comfort. At least that way whatever vile things would happen to her body would go unnoticed in her little dream world. It’s not a bad way to go if you don’t notice right?

Three more knocks… It had only just occurred to her that the barrel bolt lock had been left unlocked. Before she could attempt to sneak up and lock it… 

The door creaked open…


End file.
